Dazed and Confused
by NYNC91
Summary: I am a Slytherin, and proud of it. You've probably never heard of me. I really just blend into the background, and I'm happy to do so. So why do the Fates keep throwing me into uncomfortable situations with crazy Gryffindors? Especially the Golden Trio?
1. Hello, Bobby

_Wednesday, September 1st, 1993 _

_On the train on the way to Hogwarts, waiting for someone else to come in for me to talk to_

Hello, Bobby

Yes, you're name is Bobby. Everyone always begins their journal with "Dear Diary," so really if I begin that way in my journal, then I'm greeting everyone else's journal too, and I only want to greet my own. So, from this moment on, my diary's name is Bobby.

People are always saying that keeping a journal is good for you, and they're always telling stories about people who would have gone crazy if their journal hadn't been there to 'listen' to them. Well, I have a feeling I'll need something to stop me from going crazy this year, although I doubt the journal will actually listen to me, as it has no ears.

I suppose I could charm it to make little 'mhm girl, I know' and 'you are so right' sayings every now and then while I write, like Pansy Parkinson did to hers. But really, that would freak me out. Especially if I wrote something like "Oh, I hate myself I'm so stupid" and then my diary responds with "You are so right, girl, I totally agree."

I may end up chucking it out the window in that case.

But anyways, so I decided to give this whole journal thing a try. We'll see how it turns out, hmm? So just what exactly do you put in a journal? Each day's events? Well that wont be much on most days. Today's big event? Well, my roots are starting to show, so I need to re-dye my hair. How exciting.

But I suppose since nothing else is happening, I'll just talk about that. My hair is dyed, but not any crazy color like pink or green or blue. My father would probably chop me up into itty bitty pieces and hang me from the dungeon ceiling if I did.

Well he actually probably wouldn't. He's actually very nice, if a bit out of it. He's old, older than all of my other friend's fathers. Also, we don't actually have a dungeon, and I doubt we'd hang anyone from it if we did.

So, anyway. My hair is dyed just plain brown. It used to be this white-blonde color, and everyone loved it but me. They all thought it was pretty, and wondered why I would dye my hair brown instead. Well, I got tired of it, that's why. Not to mention I got sick of people always asking me if I was related to Draco, since his hair is practically the same color. A few people even thought I was him at first glance, which I found to be greatly offensive, as I don't think I have any particularly masculine facial features.

Although I probably am related to him, since he's a pureblood, and so am I. All purebloods are related to each other, which really kind of sucks if you think about it. Because our parents always want us to marry another pureblood, but we're already related to all of them. So saying "Hey, I'm a pureblood" is pretty much the same as going "Hey, my family is chock full of incest and that's why my brother has a tail."

He doesn't really. That's just an example. My brother is actually very much tail-less. And there is hope that my children will be too. I looked at our family tree album, and discovered a pureblood who is very very very very very distantly related to me, almost to the point of being not, and I think I'll just have to go marry him when I'm older. So what if he's 108 years old and lives in Zimbabwe with his third wife? At least our kids wont have webbed feet and twelve fingers.

Don't get me wrong, I'm very proud of my pureblood heritage; I wouldn't be in Slytherin if I wasn't. But sometimes it's still rather embarrassing, especially when you hear people crack jokes about marrying into your own family. "Hey, does your family tree even branch off, or is it just a straight line?" and "When you call your mother, does your sister go 'Yes, uncle?'"

Oh aren't you clever little people with your clever little jokes. You should all just go off and _bask_ in your cleverness together somewhere. And then die.

Really, I know I sound hostile. I think that's the reason the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin, aside from my heritage. I don't mind being in Slytherin; we aren't the nicest lot, but at least we'll survive out there in the real world. All those Hufflepuffs will end up being eaten by something or another, I'm sure of it. And the Ravenclaws will all just study themselves to death. I'm always scared to go into the library because I'll just find a bunch of dead Ravenclaws buried under tons of spellbooks and essays, their quills still poised above their thirty-fifth scroll of parchment. As for the Gryffindors, they're just too full of themselves. They'll probably all be convinced that if they're brave and loving enough, they can jump off of the Eiffel Tower and nothing will happen to them. And I'll be standing at the bottom laughing my head off with the rest of my rather sadistic—yet very much alive—Slytherins, as big-headed Gryffindors rain down around us.

Merlin, I hope no one ever reads you, Bobby. They may just end up hauling me off to St. Mungo's. Bah. I'm not crazy. Although I've been accused of it. Blaise Zabini even made up a song about it once, in our 2nd year.

Isabelle, oh, Isabelle

they should put you in a padded cell

and all the little children yell

she's a crazy one, that Isabelle

Creative, no? He thought so. I didn't. It was actually quite a lengthy song, since so many words rhyme with 'Isabelle'. Fell, tell, cell, yell, dwell, dell, well, bell, swell, shell, smell, hell, spell…

Never mind the fact that my name is actually Isabella, not Isabelle. People never get it right. But then, I suppose it's hard to make up a song of things that rhyme with Isabella. I don't think there are any songs with my name in it. No, no, wait. Those Gryffindor twins, the red headed Weasley ones? They sang some strange muggle song with my name in it, much to my annoyance. I have no idea why, and unlike Blaise's song, theirs' made absolutely no sense.

But every time they saw me in my first year they'd burst out singing, "Why'd you tella Isabella that the world was round?"

And then they'd laugh when I told them that the word 'tell' does not in fact have an 'a' on the end of it, but thank you very much for pronouncing my name correctly. Apparently it's some muggle song. Strange boys, they are. At least they got my name right. Or, so they think. Isabella isn't actually my real name either.

I sound like a spy or something, don't I? No worries, I'm not. It's just that Isabella is my middle name, which I go by instead of my horrible first name, Anastasia.

Anastasia Isabella Callahan. It sounds like a princess's name. Or a perfume line. But not like the name of someone like me. Who is someone like me, you might ask? Well, I have very long, straight, now brunette hair. Which may sound like nice hair to have, but it's really not. It gets in the way all the time, and it has absolutely no body to it. I'm very short, unfortunately, and skinny, but not in the attractive way, in my opinion. My brother used to tell me to turn sideways and stick out by tongue, and I'd look like a zipper.

Oh my, more cleverness on the part of the Clever People Cult. That's a real knee-slapper there, brother dearest. You just get funnier and funnier every day.

I ramble a lot, don't I, Bobby?

Okay, on second though, this is a little weird, calling you Bobby. Maybe I wont call you anything. I'll just call you 'You'. Although, that hasn't been known to turn out too well. I have a few American cousins, from some place up north, and they have pretty heavy accents, so they don't pronounce their 'H's. So my Aunt would try to call over our Uncle Hugh, and it'd come out as "Hey, You!" instead of "Hey, Hugh!" and everyone would be like "What?" and she'd be like "No, no, not You, Hugh!" but it still came out as 'You' and caused a great amount of confusion.

America in general seems to be confusing. And I just realized that I just proved my point about the rambling thing.

Oh, someone's coming in. I suppose I'll write more later. Goodbye my dear Bo—er, You.

* * *

This, my friends, is the result of Pepsi and boredom. I will update my other story soon, but this plot bunny just wouldn't leave me well enough alone. This story takes place in Harry and crew's third year, the same year as Isabella. She is not a new student, she just tends to blend into the background a bit. I hope you liked it, please read and review! 


	2. Soap and Sapphire

_Later same day_

_Hogwarts Express_

Well geez. That was just spiffy. Great way to start off my third year.

So, I was just sitting here, all innocent and writing in this journal. Then the door slid open and those two annoying Weasley twins came in. Now, I don't know what they have against me, but ever since I came here, I've been their target of annoyance. Honestly, I know that Slytherins and Gryffindors don't get along, but really, they don't purposely single out any _other _Slytherin to annoy. Just me. Apparently I give off some type of pheromone or something that makes them want to just bug the hell out of me.

"Why, Fred, I do believe it's our favorite Slytherin!" George cried, flopping down on the seat beside and slinging his arm around my shoulder. At least I think it was George. I can't really tell them apart, but I assume he wasn't talking to himself when he said 'Fred'. But really, you never know.

"It is, it is, George!" the twin who I assume is Fred agreed, imitating his brother's stance on my other side. "My how we've missed you, love,"

So, I could have shrugged their arms off of me, but I've learned by now that no matter what I do to try to escape their annoyingness, it will just follow me. So I settled for pretending that they weren't there, and instead glaring at the seat across from me, as if a plaid fabric-covered piece of metal is the source of all of my problems.

Anyway, I knew that they must be planning to play some trick on me, because whenever they act all buddy-buddy, they're plotting against me. And people wonder why I'm paranoid.

So anyway, they decide that because I was glaring very intensely at the seat across from me, that I must not be paying attention to the ever important conversation that they were having. Which I wasn't, I was contemplating what I did to offend the seat across from me. Much more interesting, trust me.

"Come now, snookums, don't you want to join in on this lovely discussion? It is about you, after all," one of them sang into my ear. I couldn't tell which one, and I'm tired of guessing, so from now on, I will call them Weasley Imbecile One and Two. Okay, so one—snookums? Um, ew. This must be one really bad prank they're about to pull. And two—no, I don't want to join in on—wait, what?? Me? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING ABOUT ME?

"We were just debating whether your complexion would go better with green or purple."

"I think I'd look best in blue, actually," I told them absently, because I am a complete and utter imbecile.

Don't give me that look, you stupid lump of paper and ink. They could have been asking that question for any number of reasons. Perhaps they wanted to give me some clothing, or maybe they just spend their summer holidays debating what color I look best in. It could happen, I'm sure. I just forgot the tiny fact that they are the Weasley brats and therefore would never ever ask me a question for such civilized, normal reasons.

"Ah, well, your wish is our command, dearest," Weasley Imbecile One said all gentlemanly, as if he was doing me a favor, such as giving me clothing.

HA!

Well, the next thing I know I'm completely blue from my hair to my toenails (well, I don't actually know if my toenails were blue because I had on shoes, but I suspect they were, unless this was some spell that turns everything _except _your toenails blue. But I mean, that would just be weird.) and everything I see is tinted—guess what color? Quite right, you're a smart one, you are—blue!

I WILL SMITE YOU, RED HEADED DEMONS

Well, maybe not, because I've really only heard of ancient Greek gods smiting people, and unfortunately, I happen to be lacking in that department.

Anyway, so the now blue-tinted (in my eyes, anyway) Weasley Idiots ran giggling out of the equally blue-tinted compartment, leaving me alone to be one irritated indigo girl.

Haha. Irritated Indigo. Angry Azure. Crabby Cerulean. S…uperly-pissed Sapphire. Not-happy Navy. Okay I think I'm running out of clever alliterations now.

Bah. I hate them. And don't they know how girly giggling is? Men aren't supposed to giggle, they should be…sniggering, or…guffawing. That sounds much more manly.

Anyway, so I have previously told you about just how clever the student population at Hogwarts is. Well, there are some second years standing in the door way, and I think they want to prove that fact, yet again. They could have just kept walking by my compartment, but no. They had to stop and torture the poor discolored child.

"Hey, Callahan. You look sort of…BLUE today!" Oh, hahahahaha, wow, I've never heard that one before.

"Really though, are you okay, you look like you have a case of the…_blues_!" Honestly now kids, stop with all this wit, you're just killing me here.

"Seriously, are you _azure _you're okay?"

…what? That didn't even make sense. If the blue joke wasn't dead already, you just killed it. Seriously, even your little friends aren't laughing anymore, they're just looking at you like you're stupid. Gah.

Stupid second years with their stupid normal-colored skin. Sigh. I suppose I should try to figure out how to change back, shouldn't I?

_20 minutes later _

Well. That was…extremely unsuccessful. Not only was I not able to turn myself back to normal, but I just made three more people think that I'm crazy, in addition to all of the people who already think this. Well, I mean, they're Gryffindors, so it doesn't really matter what they think, but honestly, I don't want everyone thinking I'm crazy.

And there is the small matter that they're the Golden Trio, and all their little cult followers will kick my blue ass if they ever find out that I almost accidentally crushed their beloved Potter.

So, I was trying to turn myself back to normal, and my back was facing the compartment door, which was shut with the blinds drawn so that no more nosy people could make fun of my current Cobalt Condition.

Bahahahaha.

Okay, okay, seriously, that was my last blue alliteration.

Anyway, I was trying out this spell that my Aunt Agatha told me once, that could make things change colors. Well, Dear Auntie Agatha must have seriously hated me, because that spell almost KILLED me.

Okay, so it didn't almost KILL me, but it did send me flying back into what should have been a closed compartment door, if someone hadn't just opened it seconds before.

That person happens to have black hair, green eyes, and a scar on his forehead. And probably a very sore bum after I landed on him. Very hard.

Now, as I stated before, I am not a very heavy girl. In fact, you might say that I am incredibly skinny. I'm about 5'5 and I only weigh about 97 pounds. That's rather skinny, don't you agree? So I think it was rather rude of Potter to go "OOMPH!" quite so loudly and make such a big deal about it. I mean, he didn't have to act like I was so heavy, it's practically like going "Oy! Fattest girl in the world, get off me!"

Which he did say, by the way. Just without the 'fattest girl in the world' bit. Sheesh, you'd think that if he was so famous he'd have developed some people skills. Which he proved again later that he had none of, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, so I flew back into Potter, and I hear this high-pitched, extremely girly scream. At first I thought it was Granger, her being the only girl out of the three of them. But no, it came from Ronald Weasley (the younger brother of the Weasley Imbeciles). What is it with the Weasley kids and making very girly noises? I mean, I could understand if it was the Weasley girl, what's her name, Jenny? Gina? Yeah, her. But the guys? That's a tad disturbing.

"Gerroff me!" Potter's voice was muffled from beneath my back. It's a good thing I landed backwards, or his face would be buried in my chest. Or, not really buried, as there isn't much there to be buried in. I have basically _no _chest at all. But still, I'd rather have his face in my back than in the area where breasts _should _be.

So I elegantly stood up, brushed myself off, and looked them coolly in the eye. I made an incredibly witty, scathing comment that left them wide eyed and speechless, then sauntered gracefully back to my compartment, head held high.

Ha. No, not really. I expect you've realized by now that things simply to not happen like that in my life. What actually happened was quite the opposite.

I rolled off of Potter and struggled to my feet, accidentally stepping on Weasley's toe in the process and eliciting another high-pitched, feminine shriek from him.

Hahahaaaaaaa. Ronnetta Weasley.

Ahem. Anyway.

So I get to my feet and brush myself off (that part was true) and turn around to find three wands pointed at me! Honestly, what did I ever do to them? This is Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake, random blue people flying out of train compartments at lightning speed and practically squashing the Boy-Who-Lived is not the weirdest thing to ever happen at this school, okay?

Potter's eyes narrowed, but they weren't focused on my face. At first I thought he was glaring at my boobs, which I thought was rather strange. I mean, I know that guys tend to stare at girl's boobs, because boys are nasty and perverted, but I don't think they usually _glare. _ I mean, they're just breasts, they aren't particularly offensive, they don't insult people, they're just kind of _there_, most girls do indeed have them and I don't see you going around glaring at _them_.

Just what is so offensive about my breasts, Mr. I Hate You and Your Non Existent Chest????

Then I realized that he wasn't glaring at my boobs. He was glaring at my scarf, which was really just as strange as glaring at my boobs, as it is equally as inoffensive as they are, in my opinion, but hey, I never said Potter was normal. I really didn't know what to think of this. I mean, who glares at a _scarf? _

What? Does my scarf offend you?

Are you morally against polyester?

Because it's only 20 polyester.

No, really I checked once, the rest of it is cotton.

What, do you want to see the tag or something??

Oh.

It's my _Slytherin_ scarf. Gotcha.

My very deep and thoughtful reverie was broken by Weasley sputtering "What the bloody hell are you trying to start, Slytherin?" (in his regular, non high-pitched voice, much to my disappointment). Well geez, even your big brothers are nicer to me than that, you Weasley brat.

"And why are you _blue_?" Potter sniggered (yes, snigger, there you go Potter, that's nice and manly, not like giggling) in a tone that indicated he thought I was one cockroach short of a cockroach cluster. Oh that is IT. You did not just call me blue, scar head!

Now, a smart person would have just stepped back into the compartment and closed the door. A nice person would have apologized and offered a card to a bum therapy office for Potter. And someone from the Clever People Cult would have come up with some incredibly witty, slightly insulting comment to make.

I, however, am none of the above.

"I'm not trying to start anything, you—you stupid—polyester-hating freak!"

Shockingly, this did not cause him to put his wand down, but instead made them all give me a very strange look. Possibly because I:

A. Was currently colored a bright shade of blue.

B. Had called Potter a 'polyester-hating freak', which doesn't make much sense at all, at least to them, as they didn't happen to know about my pondering over their feelings on artificial fibers.

C. All of the above

"What the hell are you on about, you bloody mad woman?" Weasley sputtered.

I glared at the youngest Weasel. "If I was your mother, boy, and thank Merlin I'm not, I would wash your mouth out with soap, and not the nice almond cherry scented soap either, the nasty whale blubber made soap that smells like—like—urgh! Just really _bad tasting soap_!"

Ah, geez. That would have been an okay insult if I had just stopped at 'wash your mouth out with soap', instead of going on and on and making them think that I'm just an insane soap eater.

Which I _don't_, by the way. Eat soap that is. It's just that, well, the almond cherry scented kind smells really good, so I assume that it would taste good too.

All of them looked at my like I was psycho, and I think Potter even took a tiny step back. Weasley looked like he was about to open his mouth and spout out yet another string of swear words when a voice interrupted us.

"Would you like something off the snack cart, children?"

We all paused where we were, three wands pointed at my chest and my face still red from shouting about soap. The snack lady was preoccupied with her cart, and did not see us for a moment. "How about some delicious Pumpkin…" she finally looked up and took in the scene. She stared, wide eyed, at me, then down at the wands, then at the Trio, and finally back at me "…Pasties?"

There was a moments silence, before I spoke loudly and so suddenly that it made everyone jump. "YES! Pumpkin Pasties. I would indeed love some Pumpkin Pasties!"

The trio looked at the adult warily, putting their wands down. As soon as my money was in her hand and the Pumpkin Pasties were in mine, I dove back into my compartment and slid the door shut, locking it this time.

Geez. Stupid Gryffindors.

And I'm STILL blue.

Damn you Weasley Brats.

* * *

Well, that wasn't one of my best chapters, but that's okay. This WILL have a plot. Eventually. I think. And even if it doesn't, stick around just to cure your boredom, yeah? Anyway, thanks to natamox, BlackRosePetals, and Dark Lady of R. for reviewing. To those three and to everyone else, review please, and I'll love you forever. 


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